


Compensating - Five Times Barbara Gordon Saved A Bat... And One Time They Saved Her

by LananiA3O



Series: Batman: Arkham Compendium [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Major Character Injury, Mentor/Sidekick, References to Child Prostitution, Teen Romance, references to juvenile delinquency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 21:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8118202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LananiA3O/pseuds/LananiA3O
Summary: Behind every great man stands an even greater woman. Behind every Bat stands a girl whose silk hides steel: Barbara Gordon.





	1. Compensating For Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a birthday tribute to THE Batgirl: Barbara Gordon. I know that Five Times Plus One fanfics do not exactly have the best rep, but I wanted to try my hand on something shorter and more episodic than my usual ten-pages-per-chapter style. You can see how well that went. I still decided to upload this in chapters, making it easier for people who only want to read/review/download certain bits of it and giving me some time to finish this properly. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Please note that only the Arkham games and their DLC are considered canon for this fanfic. Set in the same universe as my previous Arkham fics.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin has been resolutely refusing to acknowledge his personal familiarity with Batgirl for almost half a year, but even Barbara’s patience is not endless. When Robin calls for her help, she answers. But every call has a price.

It was sixteen minutes past two in the morning and she was in the middle of dislocating a would-be-rapist’s shoulders when she got the call. That is, if one could call an emergency ping signal a call.

The thug went down with a loud groan and an impressive string of curses. She planted her boot on his throat to shut him up while sending an anonymous tip to GCPD. His intended victim – a girl who couldn’t be much older than Barbara herself – quickly thanked her, before darting out of the alley into the well-lit streets of Grand Avenue. With every second her glimmer of hope that Batman might answer grew dimmer and dimmer. Of course he didn’t. He had bigger fish to fry. Or, in this case, bigger birds. A Penguin, to be precise. As she heard dispatch order the nearest unit to her location, Batgirl aimed her grapnel gun at the top floor of the parking garage.

Whatever trouble Robin was in, it must have been serious, if he was desperate enough to call her. Barbara Gordon had been Batgirl for almost a year, ever since she ‘accidentally’ broke into the Batcave during the annual Wayne Manor masquerade ball at age fifteen. Dick Grayson had been Bruce Wayne’s son and Batman’s new sidekick for nearly as long. He had also been Barbara Gordon’s boyfriend ever since school started in September and they were both dropped into the same class. It had been almost six months.

Six months in which Robin had done his very, very best to avoid Batgirl, as if she really were a wild, flying rodent, carrying some unknown plague.

Six months in which Batman had been playing ostrich, pretending that the two young vigilantes he was separately mentoring did not have a very personal and intimate relationship with one another. At least, Barbara hoped that’s what he had been doing. The alternative was that he was genuinely unaware of the big, dynamite-strapped powder keg in the living room. That thought was both disturbing and ridiculous, and she pushed it down as she grappled onto Mainland Bridge, following Robin’s tracker all the way to the Bowery.

By the time she got there, things had already gone to hell.

Robin was standing by the edge of the promenade near Jezebel Plaza, his suit singed and scratched in several places, while his discarded, burning cape flapped uselessly out on the waves. Whatever they had doused it with must have been hydrophobic. Gasoline maybe. It didn’t matter. There was a sizeable ring of downed thugs littering the ground around Batman’s sidekick. Unfortunately, the ring was bordered by even more thugs, all of which were armed, as well as two snipers on the nearby roof tops.

Near enough for a bullet. Not near enough for a grapnel gun. And without the cape, without something to connect the grapnel hook to, with his right arm drenched in blood and twisted in a way that screamed ‘broken’, and with his utility belt fresh out of smoke pellets, Dick Grayson’s amazing acrobatic skills were really not all that helpful.

She took out the sniper to the right first, then the sniper to the left. They were both taller and stronger than she would ever be, but Barbara had learned to compensate. And if she was being honest with herself, that was all she had ever been doing – compensating. Compensating for the lack of a mother figure in the Gordon household by being her own mother, compensating for the lack of a challenge in school by breaking Gotham Public Library’s track record for most books checked out in a year by a couple hundred volumes, compensating for her father’s idealism by sewing her own batsuit, cowl and cape, learning Escrima, and building her own electronic gadgets. And now she was compensating for her boyfriend’s hot-headedness by saving his ass. _Lovely._

By the time the second sniper went down, even the last dimwit on the ground had noticed that something was amiss. She threw the smoke bomb right into the fray and jumped in immediately. Bullets started flying, shot off into the grey mist by scared thugs who either did not know or did not care that they were more likely to hit each other than either her or Robin.

That was, until Dick switched into a fighting stance ready to lunge at the nearest thug.

“Are you insane?” She didn’t care that she grabbed his bad, broken arm as she yanked him closer and reached around his waist to pull him close enough for the ride up to the rooftops. Soon enough, they cleared the smoke and hit the shingles. Her feet moved instinctively, leading her and, by still firmly holding hand, Robin as well, across the roofs and away from the alley where every second spelled sinking chances of survival. Only once they reached the sickly, green glow of the ACE Chemicals office building did she stop to take stock.

Nobody had followed them, which was good. Robin’s arm was still broken, but no worse for wear than when she had grabbed him, which was also good. As she switched off the cowl and started picking pieces of a broken baseball bat out of the bloody wound, Batman’s voice sneaked through her comms unit.

“Batgirl, I’ve got your position in Park Row, together with Robin.”

 _What has happened? Are either of you hurt?_ Those were the kind of questions he never asked, but she could hear them underneath the statement just fine. She also knew that, no matter which way she would go about explaining this, Batman would be on his way to the ugly green neon sign the moment the moment she stopped talking. That was, if he wasn’t already.

“Robin was in trouble near Jezebel Plaza,” she explained as the last splinter came out of the wound and Robin winced. Right now, she could not care less. “Lots of guns, two snipers. Took out the snipers, smoke-bombed the rest. I am tending to Robin’s injuries right now.”

Batman, quite predictably, did not reply.

The emergency first aid supplies in her left-most pouch were barely enough to cover the broken arm, but it had to do. Alfred would certainly do a better job once Batman and Robin returned to the cave. Once she was done, Batgirl took a step back to check for other major injuries. A sigh of relief escaped her mouth when the scan came up clear. And then, there was silence.

Under the soft prattling of spring rain, Barbara stood with her hands on her hips, feeling very much like a mother hen watching over one of her little chickens. A very quiet, fidgety chicken that was desperately trying to look at anything but her.

“You know, I do expect silence from bats, but robins are supposed to be song birds.”

It was a terrible joke and she knew it. Jokes had never been her forte. She blamed it on growing up with a humorless twig for a father and an IQ too high for the silly, cheesy kind of crackers that most people found funny. Likewise, her own brand of sarcasm tended to fly right over people’s heads.

Being mentored by a man with all the outwardly emotional capacity of a brick had not helped.

Right now, Robin was not helpful either.

“At the very least, it would be standard courtesy to thank your savior for the daring rescue.”

That earned her a quiet sound of indignation and a sharp glare at least. Unfortunately, it only lasted for a few seconds, before Robin – Dick – went back to looking like a rat in a cage. Perhaps it was the obvious denial. Perhaps it was the lack of gratitude. Perhaps it was the fact that this was all he had been doing for the last six months – hiding from her while on patrol. Perhaps it was the fact that, just this once, Batman was not here to micromanage the situation, but in the pit of her gut, frustration finally turned into outright fury.

“For heaven’s sake, Dick, stop pretending I am not here!” If Batman were here, both of them would be in for a lecture about field names. Since he wasn’t, Barbara decided to counter her boyfriend’s silence by ignoring his gaping jaw and the unspoken plea to stop talking. “I hate to break this to you, but domino masks are really not all that effective at concealing your identity from people who know you personally. You know who I am. I know who you are. Would you please, _please_ stop pretending that we are complete strangers?”

“That’s enough, Batgirl.” She saw the dark flash of the cape even before the voice reached her and suddenly the neon green was blotted out by the black shadow that terrified every criminal from Blackgate to Bleake. “Robin is right to treat you as if you were a stranger. The closer you appear to be to each other, the more incentive you give to your opponents to use you against one another. He is helping you.”

It made sense and yet it didn’t. Of course they were close to one another. What would be the chances of three completely unrelated, masked, flying-animal-themed vigilantes running around in the same city, at the same time? Any criminal that did not have straw for brains should certainly be aware of the fact that Batman, Batgirl and Robin must know each other personally.

“I’m not asking for hugs and kisses, Batman, but a ‘hello Batgirl’. Or the occasional ‘thank you’ would be nice.”

Of course, she might as well have argued with a wall. She knew it by the way Batman’s face remained unmoving, unflinching, void of any emotion. _That_ she was used to. _That_ was not what made her heart freeze up like a popsicle.

It was the fact that Robin’s face perfectly mirrored his mentor’s.

It hurt. It hurt to think that Bruce’s opinion and appreciation meant more to her boyfriend than granting her this small favor, this tiny bit of acknowledgement. It hurt to think that he was proving to be so good a student to his mentor, he was just about to lose what made Dick Grayson _Dick Grayson_ , what made Robin _Robin_ and not _Mini-Bat_. It hurt to think that he was on the best path of shaping up to become just like Bruce, in every way, shape and form, including the ones that no-one should ever be, least of all the teenage-boy and class mate she had fallen in love with.

It also hurt to think that both of them placed so little trust in her as to think that she might need that much cuddling, that much protection, and perhaps that was the better thought to latch onto. Less personal. Less painful.

“You are both idiots, do you know that? What do you think I am? A damsel in distress? The fair maid that needs protecting from the evils of this world? Do you really think I am that weak? That useless?” At last, Robin at least had the good grace to look hurt and ashamed. As far as Barbara was concerned, it was too late. She was tired of this.

“You know what… have it your way then.” The grapnel gun connected with a sharp metallic clank. Two seconds later, she was perched up on a gargoyle on another building, looking down onto the two silent figures. “If you two want to be ridiculous, go ahead and be ridiculous. If you want me to be Batgirl and nothing but Batgirl, so be it. I will go back to patrol now. You know how to contact me.”

“Batgirl!”

 _At last!_ The first word in six months of patrol. _Halleluiah!_ But it was too little too late.

“Save it, Robin. And while you’re at it, go home and paint that red vest black.”


	2. Compensating For Crimes Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not every day that Batman asks her to use her direct access to GCPD to scrub the system of every last trace of a specific fourteen-year-old boy, but not everyone turns to crime just for money or fun. When it comes to family, all gloves are off.

Barbara wished she could have said she was surprised when Batman told her he had found a new Robin. The fact that she was not proved that she had spent way too much time around the emotional ice block that was Bruce Wayne. Her only consolation was that the very fact that he _had_ taken in a new Robin proved that some of that ice had melted. She remembered how hard she had had to beg Bruce to teach her, to let her join him on patrol. Dick, for his part, had had it a little easier, being his ward and later his adopted son, but not by much. She made a mental note to thank her ex-boyfriend for his many sacrifices and his excellent job in his quest to humanize a man who had nearly gotten lost in the persona he had created for himself.

Whoever this new Robin was, he had some big shoes to fill. Barbara almost felt sorry for him.

Her sympathy died the moment she opened the door to Batgirl’s base at the Clock Tower for him.

“I don’ need no babysitter.”

“Good jolly evening to you, too,” Barbara mocked back. Part of her was tempted to slam the door in his face. She doubted he would care. Under a freshly cut fringe of black hair, steel blue eyes glared back at her in defiance. Clearly this boy did not want to spend his time with her any more than she wanted to spend hers with him, but she had promised Bruce. The fact that he _looked_ like he could have been Dick’s half-brother, if Bruce had really been their biological father and new guy’s mother had been a crack whore, did not make it better. Barbara bit her lip. “You know Bruce is going to let both of us have it if you don’t step through this door now, so why don’t you come in?”

It was a lousy invitation, but it seemed to work. She stepped back for a second and – strangely enough – found her Batgirl training kick in immediately.

The new Robin had none of the easy confidence Dick had had, but that was not to say that he was scared. Just paranoid. Batman would be proud. She watched him glance around the door frame and across the room quickly, but with laser focus, before stepping in with slow, but deliberate strides. His muscles were tensed and if she had had the cowl, she would certainly have been able to see his pulse go through the roof. His gaze went across all doors and windows, and his hands stayed half-clenched by his side as he shrugged out of his shoes. Shoes that looked like they were not even two weeks old. He was planning for exit strategies, ready to fight or fly. For the first time ever, Barbara wondered just where the hell Bruce had found this kid.

“Your name’s Jason, right?”

“And your Barbara Gordon, the commish’s daughter.”

“Commish?” She wasn’t sure whether she was about to chuckle or choke as the word wormed its way up through her throat. The only people she had ever heard calling her father that were the kind she beat the daylights out of at night.

“Fine, _Commissioner_ Gordon…” He rolled his eyes as if the word itself was ridiculous beyond belief. The thick Park Row accent swinging in his voice did not help. “So what exactly did Bats tell you about me and why I’m here?”

“I’m supposed to help you socialize and catch up on your studies.”

The look of hurt that flickered across his face came and went in an instant, but she would have recognized it anywhere. She remembered Dick telling her about it, later after they had broken up and they had finally been able to talk about what it was to be Robin. Not Bruce Wayne’s ward, or his adopted son, but _Robin_. She knew about the secret behind the chirpy, friendly sidekick on the outside. About the standards that were so ridiculously high, you’d have to launch yourself off the earth with a rocket to reach them. About the utter and total lack of recognition for any sort of achievement. About the awful, nagging feeling that, no matter what you did, you would never be good enough. It had taken Dick three years to walk out on Bruce. She wondered how long it would take Jason.

“I don’ need no help with my studies. And I don’ wanna socialize.”

“If you say so.” Every once in a while, being a cop’s daughter came in really handy. Right now, it was the only thing that made her keep her poker face and stop herself from laughing at the self-incriminating phrasing of his retort. Bruce had asked her to do this. Alfred had called her five minutes later and implored her to be patient.

Patience, as far as Barbara was concerned, was her middle name. “Grab a seat on the couch then. I’ll get you something to drink. I’ve got apple juice, orange juice, green tea and coffee. Take your pick.”

“Coffee. Black.”

Another answer that nearly made her laugh. Maybe tall, dark and brooding Bruce had finally found his equal. “Black coffee it is then.”

***

It was eight days short of Bruce’s birthday when Batman contacted her with another Jason-related request. Jason Peter Todd had finally been officially adopted by Bruce Wayne. It had taken almost half a year, but the paperwork had finally come through. For a moment, she wondered if he knew that Dick and Barb had dragged the freshly-adopted co-heir to the Wayne fortune out of the comfort zone of his room in Wayne Manor and down to the nearest bowling alley to celebrate. If Bruce was half as annoyed at the surprise party as Jason had seemed to be, she would be in for the lecture of her life. If he, just like Jason, had eventually come to realize that it was actually a nice gesture and a good idea, she might just keep her cowl. And her head.

“Hello, Bruce. How’s it going?”

“I have a task for you, Barbara.”

 _No-nonsense, straight to the point._ Yes, this was going to hurt. Barbara took a deep breath and made sure to turn away from Dick and Jason, who were once more arguing about whether either of them were cheating their way to bowling victory. _Boys…_

“Let me get my stuff and I’ll get back to—“

“I have a task for _you_ , Barbara. Not for Batgirl.” It was the promptness of the reply more than the sharp tone that made her freeze. Bruce may have been terrible at expressing honest emotions, but he had enough social grace and manners not to interrupt people when they spoke. “I need you to make use of your access to GCPD’s files to wipe any trace of Jason from Gotham’s criminal records, virtual, physical or otherwise.”

“WHAT?!” From the bowling alley, Dick and Jason stared at her in fresh confusion and alertness. She gave them a quick wave of the hand to let them know everything was fine, then made her way down the hall to the ladies’ room in quick strides. Only once the door to the stall was shut behind her did she turn her attention back to her phone. “Jason has a record!?”

“Yes.” If Bruce’s tense voice was anything to go by, he didn’t like it any more than she did. “He has no federal or state-wide record that I am aware off, but GCPD has a sealed, juvenile delinquency record, including his image, finger prints and DNA. Jason will soon be ready. I need for this ID information to have disappeared by then or it might compromise his identity as Robin and cost him his life some day. Will you do it?”

Barbara bit her lip. It wasn’t like she had never hacked into the GCPD’s database or broken into the evidence locker, for that matter. But so far it had always been by choice, as a prank, as a challenge, as a means to stave off boredom. This… If this was not criminal intent, she’d eat her own batsuit. Her thoughts returned to her latest ‘tutoring’ session with Jason, to the spark of sheer, undiluted joy in his face and voice as he had confessed to her that Bruce had asked Alfred and Lucius to prepare another Robin suit. _Robin 2.0_ , he had grinned through the widest smile she had ever seen on him as he weaseled his way through another firewall she had set up for him, just for fun.

“Alright, Bruce.” Her father would murder her if he found out. “For Jason.”

***

She decided to go for the easy part first. Jason was busy lounging on her couch, breezing through another sixth grade text book. For a kid who had stopped going to school during third grade, he was catching up amazingly fast. She knew at least half of it were hours of overtime and all-nighters on his part. Her fingers raced across the keyboard, breezing through the GCPD’s networks and databases. Right now, having Jason around helped her focus. It helped her remind her why she was breaking the rules, that there was a good reason she was doing this.

It helped all the way until she found his file.

Jason’s first arrest had been at age four. He looked positively defiant and adorable in his mug shot. He also looked extremely tired, malnourished and neglected like no four-year-old should ever look. Whatever plans Willis Todd had had for the money he had been trying to gain from pulling a con on an electronics store with his pre-school son as an accomplice, she doubted they had included food or proper clothes for poor Jason. His second arrest had been for petty theft. A bag of groceries and a pack of aspirin when he had been six. According to the arresting officer’s words, his only words throughout the interrogation had been in response to the question ‘why’. _For mommy_.

Barbara paused her search for a moment and glanced across her laptop. Jason was still lost in his text book, his brow furrowing in deep concentration and equally deep annoyance. _Spanish_. Languages were not his strong suit, she knew that much, and his hair-trigger temper did not help.

Bringing up Catherine Todd’s own wrap sheet was the next logical step and yet Barbara regretted it the instance she took it. Drug possession, drug possession, prostitution, drug possession, theft, willful negligence. _Dick’s half-brother, if Bruce had really been their biological father and new guy’s mother had been a crack whore…_ Barbara winced as the memory turned her stomach into a painful, frozen rock. Thank god she had never voiced that thought out loud to Dick or Jason. Or anyone else for that matter.

“You ok, Barb?” From the other side of the living room, Jason was looking at her in mild worry, his text book flung carelessly behind the couch as if he was sick of looking at the thing.

“Don’t take it out on the poor book!”

Jason laughed at the indignant cry that had escaped her throat. “Relax, Barb. It’s just a book. It ain’t got feelings. Are. You. Ok?”

“Much better than you will be if Bruce finds out that you _smoke_ when he’s not looking.” As the color slowly drained from his face, Barbara felt a forced smile tug at the corner of her mouth. “Get back to your _ejercicios, hermanito_.”

With an impressive string of curses, Jason vaulted off the couch and retrieved the book. Dick would have back-flipped. Or somersaulted. Or something ridiculous like that. With Dick, it was all a glamorous, entertaining show. With Jason, it was sheer pragmatism. Maximum velocity and damage in minimal time and with minimal effort. And now she knew why.

On September 14th 2003, Catherine Todd had died, choking on her own vomit thanks to a drug overdose. Her body had been found by her eight-year-old son. Three days later, Jason Peter Todd had disappeared out of his foster home and off the grid. She erased his entire record with Gotham City Child Protective Services while she was at it. From what little Jason had let slip to her about his time in orphanages and foster homes, the corrupt bastards were not likely to notice anyway.

After that, GCPD had become Jason’s revolving door. Thankfully, his good-for-nothing father had taught him one thing at least: how not to leave too much incriminating evidence behind. The few times that they would have had enough evidence to press charges, Jason had never even stayed in lockup long enough for the DA to arrive. How he had managed to escape, they had never found out. She skimmed the charges quickly, a long litany of petty theft and vagrancy misdemeanors that would have added up significantly, if GCPD had not been a wretched hive of corruption that didn’t give two shits about keeping proper tabs on some penniless, underfed, car-part-pawning kid with an attitude. She was just about ready to wipe the file from the database for good, when her eyes fell on the last charge logged.

_February 19 th 2009\. Prostitution._

In her stomach, the rock of ice grew spikes that seemed to pierce right through her gut. She remembered that winter. Cold, harsh, biting. The piping in the apartment she and her father lived in had frozen over four times in one week, two weeks in a row. By then, the landlord had decided to screw it and take a holiday in Hawaii. James Gordon had been eternally grateful when Dick Grayson had offered to house Barbara at Wayne Manor until the worst was over. Little less than a month later, Bruce and Dick had had their final fallout, resulting in Dick grabbing his bags and leaving just after his eighteenth birthday. But for Bruce’s birthday… for February 19th there had been a truce in the Wayne household, for the sake of a friend in need.

And while she had been sitting in front of the main hearth of Wayne Manor, bundled up in warm, comfortable sweaters, with a cup of hot chocolate in her hand, a belly full of Alfred’s home-cooked food, helping Dick plan out a little surprise party for Bruce when he got back from patrol… while she had been warm and safe and sound, thirteen-year-old Jason had been beaten, half-frozen, near-starved in a dirty, blood-stained alley in Park Row, getting onto his knees and ditching any pretense of pride and dignity for a few quick bucks which were not very likely to last him more than a couple of days. According to the entry in his file, the only words he had spoken to the arresting officers had been snide remarks about their sexual preferences and mocking offers that made it clear it was only the first time he got caught, not the first time he had offended. She prayed to god that none of the officers had accepted.

Over on the couch, Jason had nearly reached the end of his Spanish text book. The frustration and annoyance were clear in every line of his face, every tensed muscle in his body, yet he had powered through. She understood now. Why nearly every crime scene photo Batman and his helpers showed to him elicited nothing more than shrugged shoulders and a muttered ‘I’ve seen worse’. Why he never turned down food, even when he had just had a meal or two. Why he always cranked up the thermostat two degrees higher than everyone else in the manor. Why he went into a flying rage every time Bruce, Barbara or even Dick neglected to take proper care of themselves, to get enough food and sleep. Why he always faced all the exits when sleeping. Why he hated surprises and flinched at unexpected touches. Why he always, _always_ carried at least one hidden lock pick and knife. Why he had enough hiding spots and hidden stashes across the city to rival Bruce’s paranoia. Why he never, ever gave up, even if it meant broken bones and open wounds.

The file disappeared off the server without a trace, followed shortly by any and all materials that linked to it or even so much as mentioned the name Jason Todd. She left a memo on her desktop to do a full, nation-wide database scrub using the Batcomputer in the Clock Tower. As for the GCPD, the numbers of the relevant evidence lockers were already etched into her brain. Soon, the physical proof of Jason’s past crimes would be gone, as well.

 _Right now,_ Barbara finally decided _. It will end right now_.

She wiped all traces of her little hacking exercise from her laptop, shut it off and got up slowly, not in the least surprised when Jason immediately followed her every move in between quick glances at his text book. Tigers and stripes and all that. She switched the thermostat from twenty-two to twenty-four degrees Celsius, left for the kitchen and eventually returned with a tray of grilled cheese and bacon sandwiches that she set down on the table next to him. As expected, the sight and scent of hot food ripped Jason straight out of whatever grammar exercise he had been digging through.

“Woah… what’s with the room service?”

“Something came up.” She tried to sound as casual as she could, but of course he saw straight through her. He was about to become Robin 2.0 after all.

“Bruce?”

“Personal favor. I’ll be back in an hour tops.” She doubted it would even take that long, but it was always good to err on the side of caution. “Save some of those for me, okay?”

That made him laugh and the spiked ball of ice in her gut melted just a little. “Jesus, Babs… Me? Save food? Don’t you know anything about me, girl?”

 _I know more than you will ever know I know, and I don’t care what you had to do to survive_ , Barbara thought, as she grabbed her coat, keys and backpack and headed out the door.

_I know that Bruce is right. Nobody will ever have a chance to hold any of it against you. Nobody. Ever._


	3. Compensating For Irrationality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even Batman makes mistakes. When losing his Robin sends Batman spiralling down a self-destructive path of guilt and violence, Batgirl decides to step up and protect him from his own demons.

Bruce was going to kill himself. He was either going to kill himself or one of his targets.

The mere thought made Barbara sick, yet there was nothing she could do to change the situation. She had tried. She had stepped between Batman and the latest member of Joker’s crew soon to be reduced to a bloody pulp and had earned herself nothing but a kick to the gut in return.

“Where is he keeping him?!”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. I really, really, really, don’t!” Down below, on the docks near Mendo Soaps, the thug’s pants were quickly turning a darker shade of brown, just like his voice was quickly turning a darker tone of choked. “I swear it, on my mother’s grave, I don’t know where! I swear it!”

More bones cracked, more screams echoed. The clown-faced henchman’s arms hung uselessly by his side. His legs dangled like deboned fish. Bloody teeth hit the pavement with quiet ringing, followed by more whimpering out of a bloody mouth in a cracked and swollen face.

“If you are lying to me, I will make sure you will wish you were dead.”

One quick knockout hit later, Batman discarded the thug like a used rag. If Barbara’s count stood right, they had now cracked the magical number one-hundred.

One-hundred scumbags closer to death than life and what good had it done? None. Jason, Robin, was still gone. Bruce, Dick, Barbara, Alfred, Lucius – none of them were any closer to finding him than they had been three months ago. The desperate search for their lost wing had taken a harsh toll on all of them, but none of them suffered like Bruce did.

He blamed himself. She knew that much. He blamed himself for not keeping a closer eye on Jason, for not hiding more trackers in his uniform, for not finding him. Bruce Wayne had not shown up for any official events, company-related or otherwise, in ten weeks and the media were having a field day with it, while Lucius did what he could to keep things running. Batman had not taken care of anything not related to the Joker for just as long, leaving Barbara alone with a crime-riddled city. Dick had made sure to drop by every night, to lend a helping, bashing fist, a second pair of eyes for the search and a shoulder to lean on when the pressure became too much. Bruce had refused any and all offers of help and he was suffering for it. According to Alfred, he ate and slept even less than usual. Each night he came back with more cuts and bruises and refused his painkillers, as if hurting himself like this would in some way be appropriate punishment for all the agony Jason was surely going through at the hands of the Joker.

Bruce had come as close to killing himself, as he had come close to killing that bloody pile of misery on the docks. With one last look at the unfortunate, unconscious clown, Batgirl set course to leave the city.

The long, winding roads of Crest Hill were deserted at this ungodly hour, with only the rustling of the wind in the hillside trees and her own cape to keep out the thought of Jason’s screams. There was nothing more that she could do about finding Jason. All her nets had been cast. All search algorithms were up and running. All evidence had been analyzed.

There was nothing more that she could do to save Jason, but she could save Bruce.

The Drake residence stood out on Crest Hill like a sore thumb. Where all the other houses around were old nobility and looked the part, Jack Drake had modernized his home to the point where there was little left of the old stone, except for the foundation. In the endless row of suites on the top floor, only one light shone through the darkness.

Disabling Jack Drake’s security systems was easy. Disabling Tim Drake’s was not. She cursed as traffic was re-routed and new firewalls sprung up almost as quickly as the old ones fell. Like heads of a hydra. Eventually though, her expertise and experience won out and Barbara felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth, despite the exhaustion in every fiber of her body and the chill from the rain. No one could measure up to her computer skills. No one.

Tim Drake was already waiting for her. She caught a glimpse of the numbers 911 on the display of his phone as she helped herself into his room through her window. For a seventeen-year-old, his room was surprisingly neat and tidy, almost void of any personality. Then again, if her research was right, he spent more time in boarding schools than this house anyway.

“Batgirl. Didn’t expect your pretty face to come here tonight.”

“Neither did I.” The reply probably came out a lot harsher than she had intended, but Barbara shook off the guilt. This wasn’t about her and there was no time to lose. She needed Timothy Drake’s help. “I know you talked to Batman and Nightwing and told them that you knew their real identities.”

“Yeah, then you probably also know that Batman wasn’t exactly thrilled about what I told him,” Drake retorted, before sitting down by his desk and typing away at his computer. An essay for school perhaps. It didn’t matter.

“You told him you wanted to be Robin.”

“Twice. And he told me that there _was_ a Robin already and that he never wanted to hear from me again. I can take a hint.” _But not rejection_ , Barbara mused, as she watched the lines of his face harden, his fingers drumming against the keys just a little harsher than before. “I guess it’s for the better,” Drake eventually continued, his eyes still glued to the screen. “Would be awkward beyond belief if there was a new Robin in training once Jason decides to come back.”

Fury shot through her spine, only instead of heating her up like a volcano it clashed with the cold horror in her chest and melded into a mangled mess of paralyzing emotions. “Decides to come back?”

“He always does, right?” It took a full minute of silence and half a page of typing before Timothy Drake finally turned around to face her. Judging from the look on his face, her utter rage and revulsion was obvious in hers. To his credit, he didn’t seem the slightest bit impressed. “What do you expect? I have been following Batman and Robin since the night that John and Mary Grayson were murdered. I know their names, their styles and their habits. It’s not the first time Robin 2.0 checks out. He always comes back, usually after a week or two. I don’t know how bad of a fallout he had with Batman to be gone for this long, but he’ll be back eventually. He always is.” The thought seemed to make Tim Drake both happy and disappointed at the same time. “I tried to tell myself he wouldn’t come back this time so I could dream of having a chance at being Robin, but you have to hand it to Bruce – he has a pretty convincing way of shattering people’s illusions.”

“You… total… moron!” Her gloved hand connected with his bare face with a slap loud enough to echo off the high walls of a room too big for someone who was only there for summer vacations. Before she knew what she was doing, Barbara had him by the collar, lifting him up and pressing him hard against the wall in what was eerily reminiscent of Batman’s preferred interrogation techniques. Tears were pricking at the corners of her eyes. “You goddamn idiot!”

“Oh god…” At last, the realization sunk in. Tim Drake’s face fell, color draining slowly like water down a clogged sink. “He’s not gone by choice, is he? Robin…” And now _his_ vitals were off the charts too. “Robin’s… dead?”

“No.”

She hated how small her voice sounded. Bruce would have growled the word, all rage and denial. Dick would have shouted, all desperation and prayer. But Barbara… Barbara was no longer sure if Jason was, in fact, still breathing. In a way, it would be a kinder fate if he wasn’t. The alternative was Joker and—

“We don’t know.” Her fists uncurled slowly and she stepped back as Tim Drake gasped for air. “He was always a too impulsive for his own good. He went after the Joker. Disabled his trackers and went after the Joker. We haven’t heard from him since.”

“Shit.”

That was the most adequate response she had ever heard to the events of three months ago.

“Well…” She watched silently as Drake smoothed out his shirt and looked at the picture collection that hung above his bed. It was a collage of Batman and Robin – both Dick and Jason – made up of what looked like five years worth of midnight photographs. “If Joker had killed him yet, I’m sure you guys would have heard about it already. And besides, Jason is tougher than that. I saw him take down sixteen thugs all by himself once, you know? After taking a hit with a crowbar, a four-story tumble down fire escapes and a broken clavicle. I’m sure he’s still alive.” A deep sigh later, Tim Drake was back in his swivel chair, glancing at the half-finished document as if it were a million miles away. “That explains Batman’s recent focus on Joker’s thugs, though.”

Which in turn snapped Batgirl’s brain back intro track. The fury was gone in an instant. Instead, she knelt down next to the boy, the young man, who had been brave enough to confront both Nightwing _AND_ Batman about their deepest secret and who hadn’t so much as flinched at hell-hath-no-fury Batgirl. “Batman needs you, Timothy.”

“Me?” He chuckled at that. “He already turned me down twice, remember? And he’s probably right. I doubt I could ever be as good as Dick and Jason have been at it, even if I have been training for this since Grayson left.”

For just a moment, Barbara wanted to bash her head against the nearest wall. And slap Tim Drake. _What the hell is it with these guys constantly having to compare themselves to one another? What’s up with the guilt-tripping inferiority complexes?_

In the end, she didn’t slap him. She rested her hands on his shoulder and looked into his eyes – blue, not as bright as Dick’s and not as harsh as Jason’s – with an edge of seaweed green. A flock of black-haired, blue-eyed bats and birds. It was frightening how alike they all were in so many ways.

“Timothy Drake… If I had a nickel for every time I heard something along those lines out of Dick and Jason, I would be richer than Bruce by now. Batman may not _want_ you to be Robin, but he _needs_ you. He would never admit it. He will never say it. But you have seen what he has become of him since Jason’s been gone and we both know where he is headed. Batman needs a Robin.”

Minutes passed like hours, but she couldn’t move. It was like time had frozen over, stopped dead waiting for the realization to sink in, the gears to turn and the decision to be made in this boy’s brain.

“He will say _no_ again.”

“Yes. It’s one of his favorite words. You will hear it a lot. And you will keep pushing back. So will I. So will Nightwing. I’ll make sure of it. None of us can do this all on our own. All of us had to learn that lesson eventually. But Batman… I swear he suffers from emotional amnesia.”

Slowly, Timothy Drake’s mouth curved into a smile. “Is that why Robins named after a particularly persistent songbird?”


	4. Compensating For Bad Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going after Joker without informing Batman was her idea and her idea only. There is no way she will let Robin take the blame for her mistakes.

There was no escaping the Batman. Barbara had known that, of course. So had Tim. That didn’t change the fact that they had tried their hardest to postpone the inevitable confrontation for as long as possible. It had been a rather productive effort. _Stopped half a dozen muggings, prevented two rapes, caught one of Riddler’s spies._ They had even managed to find a new lead on the sick bastard who had spent the last month creeping around Gotham’s poorest neighborhoods and setting homeless citizens on fire. She doubted any of it would make a difference to Bruce now.

He approached them with the same harsh, unflinching steps and the same intimidating stare he usually reserved for the likes of Penguin and Two-Face. That in and of itself was a bad sign. Through her cowl, she could notice Robin’s heartbeat picking up ever so slightly. Barbara took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. This was going to hurt.

Up close, Batman looked even more intimidating. Barbara wasn’t a short girl by any definition, but next to Bruce, she felt about two inches high. She had hoped to see fury in his eyes, but there was none. Whatever he had done in the two hours since the events at the amusement park had drained the heat of his wrath and left nothing but cold, tranquil ire.

“You disobeyed me.”

_What did you think you were doing? Are you aware of what you have done? Of all the horrible things that might have happened, had you failed?_

Batgirl had become an expert at reading between Batman’s lines. Eventually, everyone who worked with him developed that skill, if given enough time. She knew she was stepping into a mine field. Thankfully, she had had the last two hours to prepare her answers.

“He threatened to kill the commissioner, if you showed up.” She wanted to say _my father_ , but that would be a clear violation of field rules. Right now, the only way she could possibly get out of this mess with all her limbs and her dignity intact was to play by his rules to every last dot on every last letter. “I knew it was a trap. I double-checked all my trackers and communication devices to make sure you could find me if you had to. I had backup plans for my contingencies and I was fully prepared to call you, if I were to get in over my head. I was aware of any and all possible consequences of my actions.”

“You knew that the Joker would escape with first-hand information on both Batgirl and the new Robin then?” _Zing. Right in the guilt._ Barbara forced her face to remain unflinching and her tongue to stay silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you. Especially if you are talking to the World’s Greatest Detective. “He nearly killed both of you.”

“But he didn’t.”

“He could have.” For a moment, the fire was back. Most people would not have noticed, but Batgirl knew pain when she saw it in Bruce. And he was in a world of pain right now. He was suffering. “He baited you into an abandoned, booby-trapped amusement park, ambushed you and nearly beat you in a fight. He could have killed you. Or worse.”

 _He could have captured you, like Jason._ Another thing Bruce would never say out loud, but that was constantly on his mind. Even now, nine months after Jason’s disappearance, he was still holding out hope. She pitied him. Him and Dick, both, for deluding themselves into thinking that there was any chance Jason was still alive.

“Hand me your grapnel gun and your line launcher.”

Her insides froze over. “Are you trying to ground me?” The thought itself was both ridiculous and terrifying. Ridiculous because she was not Bruce’s kid by any definition of the word, so technically he had zero authority over her. However, most of all it was terrifying. Batman knew all her hideouts and ever since Jason’s abduction, he had had Lucius put trackers and remote EMPs on every device he handed to Robin and her. Barring the gear strapped around her waist right now, he would be able to disable all of it within half a minute. If he wanted to ground her, he was fully capable of doing it. With or without her consent.

For the first time in a long, long time, Barbara Gordon felt helpless.

“I think you’re being too harsh on her, Bruce.”

“Field names!” It didn’t even take him a single second to turn away from her and to Robin, who had probably regretted the words the moment they had left his mouth. Through the lenses of her cowl, Barbara could see Tim’s vitals climb slowly, but steady as molten rock crawling down a volcano.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

To his credit, Tim did very well at not showing how intimidated he must have been. It was only his second official week as Robin. Five and a half months of training were nowhere near enough preparation for the force of nature that was Batman on patrol. It wasn’t until he started rolling his eyes at Bruce that Barbara realized what was wrong. Horror gripped her throat. Tim wasn’t standing his ground because he was ready. He was doing it because he did not _know_ just how much trouble he was in.

“Look, Batman, I understand you’re angry that Batgirl and I came here without your permission, but what’s done is done. Yes, Joker escaped. But what if he hadn’t? Think about it. We were _so_ close to getting him. We could have locked him up, interrogated him, maybe even find out where Ja—“

“But you didn’t.” There was no warmth, no patience left in the growl that came from Batman’s throat. She prayed Tim would just take the loss and back off. There was no more saving this. “Joker escaped. You did not lock him up. You did not interrogate him. You know _nothing_ that you did not know before. Joker on the other hand has now seen you in action and he has sized you up. He knows how you fight. He knows you are inexperienced. And he knows you would take Batgirl’s orders over mine. You are an easy target.”

“I am what now?!”

“Tim—“

“I am NOT an easy target! We nearly—“

It all happened too fast for her brain to react. Within an instant, Batman had Robin pinned to the wall of the nearby roof access stair case. The gadget belt came off without a hitch. Five seconds later, Bruce had disabled all of Robin’s communications.

“I should not have given you the suit. Not yet. Maybe never.”

The look of utter pain and desperation that crept onto Tim’s face nearly broke her heart. This had been one of Dick’s and Jason’s worst nightmares, but they had had the dubious privilege of having fears even greater than losing Robin. Tim… up until two seconds ago, Barbara wasn’t sure there had been anything he was afraid of. Now, she knew.

“Bruce, let it go!”

“Field names, Batgirl!” This time, the rage wasn’t even remotely veiled, but it wasn’t enough. His eyes were still on Robin. She needed to shift his focus.

“I don’t give a damn about your field names, _Bruce_!” She accentuated the spiteful name with a quick stomp of her right heel. It was a childish and petulant gesture, but as far as Batgirl was concerned, desperate times called for desperate measures. “And I don’t give a damn about any of your other rules either! I don’t give a damn about your guilt complex. I don’t give a damn about Joker right now, to be honest. Going to that park was _MY_ idea! Calling in Robin, but not you, was _MY_ idea! Going up against Joker and Harley without calling you, that too was _MY_ idea!”

Slowly, Batman’s face was turning in her direction. It was a good start, but not quite good enough. She could practically feel the gears inside his head turning. With a deep breath, Barbara gathered her remaining courage. This was going to be painful. “And if I’m going to be honest, I would not have stopped at arresting the son of a bitch. I would have broken his damn neck!”

At last, Batman’s full attention was on her. She could see it in the way his eyes honed in on hers, in the way he stopped gripping Robin’s belt like he wanted to break it, in the way he approached her with short, menacing steps. She felt both incredibly relieved and utterly broken at the same time.

“You would have given up the chance to save Robin… for that?”

 _Oh god, Bruce…_ Her breath hitched in her throat. _Focus, Barbara, don’t let it show. Stand like rock. Flow like water._

“There is nothing left to save… Bruce. We were in that park for the better part of two hours, listening to Joker rant on TV. He didn’t mention him in a single word. Do you honestly think Joker would have passed up an opportunity like that?” It was true. Outside of the not-so-subtle references to Batman being way too obsessed and overprotective with his sidekicks and Joker’s explicit intention to consequently get rid of them – which only bolstered Barbara’s suspicions – there had been no mention of Jason. None. “He’s gone, Batman. And that is not your fault. But there is _another_ Robin right now and what you were about to do to him… that is your fault and mine. I’m ready to take my half of responsibility for that. Are you?”

To her far right, Tim was shaking his head at the two of them in silent shock. He knew now what she was doing. It didn’t matter. The die had been cast. This was _her_ mess and she was going to clean it up. Tim would not bear the consequences of her mistakes. Not if she could help it.

“Give me your belt, Batgirl.”

The hinges lifted effortlessly as her fingers went to work. Just a few blocks west of their location, the clock of the tower that contained her miniature Batcave struck four. It felt strange wearing the suit without the weight of the gadgets and the feeling of the belt’s strap around her waist, but it was a price she was willing to pay. Batman accepted her offering with a slight nod.

“Get your clothes at cache 16, then go home.”

“Thank you, Batman.” He hadn’t told her to hand over the suit after changing back into civvies. He had told her to go home and he had taken her gizmos, but he hadn’t taken the suit. It was a pleasant reminder that, even at his worst, even at _their_ worst, the Dark Knight would always be merciful to those he considered family.

“Robin.” Tim bristled at the sound of his code name, but Barbara gave him a ghost of a smile. The worst was over. “We are going home. You need more training.”

“Agreed. Thank you, Batman.”

Against all odds, Barbara felt a smile sneak onto her lips as she made her way jumping and gliding across the rooftops to the emergency supply cache by the canal. It was a lot trickier navigating the city without a grapnel gun, but she had learned a few nice tricks from Jason back in the day. Being a Bat really was a family effort. Perhaps, if she and Dick could keep on teaching Tim and he could find the courage to use that level head of his to talk Dick and her out of bad ideas like going after Joker on their own… perhaps then they would all be able to make it.

Alive and in one piece.


	5. Compensating For A Bullet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pain is nearly unbearable, but she cannot give up. She has to hang on. For her father. For her vigilante family. For Batgirl.

_Ding dong…_

The sound of the door bell echoed off the walls and right into her cranium, like a drill through the head. Barbara had spent so much time at the GCU library throughout the last semester that she had completely forgotten what a full day at home was like. All the salesmen, all the scammers, all the pesky neighbors, all the ringing.

“Colleen? Is that you again?” She hoped not. She had always known that Colleen was a bit of a ditz sometimes, which made teamwork projects with her a necessary evil, but she had already come back to Barb’s apartment twice today – once because she forgot her keys, then because she forgot her wallet. Whatever it was that she was coming to collect now, Barb would use it to whack her over the head with.

In the end, she wished it had been Colleen.

The purple Hawaii shirt and dark brown shorts looked downright ridiculous in the cold, harsh glow of the hallway lights, particularly because it was December 14th already and Gotham was once more starting to freeze over. On the white and red baseball cap, the word _LIAR_ stared at her mockingly. A couple of inches lower, a blood red grin shone on a bleached white face.

_Oh crap._

It was the first thought that came to her mind. Facing Joker on patrol, in her suit and with her gadgets, was bad enough, but at her own door in civvies? She knew he was deceptively strong in hand to hand combat. Also, there was no telling what might be in that box he was holding. Marzipan and kittens? Joker venom and bombs? Maybe she could still take him on, but all she was wearing now were exercising clothes and a pair of good running shoes.

 _And you better use them well_ , Batgirl’s voice pierced through the circles her mind was running in. _Don’t repeat Robin’s mistakes!_ _Emergency beacon, now!_

“Candygram!” Joker cheered and she knew her time was up. Years of carefully honed reflexes took over and Barbara turned and bolted for the tracker hidden behind the couch. When she caught the glimmer of the gun out of the corner of her eye, she knew she wouldn’t make it.

The bullet tore through her clothes, skin, flesh and bone in one swift strike, sending her stumbling forward and headfirst into the table. Another reflex kicked in and she twisted to avoid landing on her face. Better glass in the hair than glass in the eyes. If she had wanted to scream before, the impact with the thin carpet knocked the wind right out of her.

Everything hurt. Her spine was on fire, a piercing, stabbing pain that spiraled up her back and all the way into her chest where it gripped her lungs like a heavy duty vice. Underneath her back, blood seeped quickly into the carpet. If felt hot and sticky against her broken body. Breathing was torture, but it was also necessary and Barbara was grateful when the cool-headed Batgirl part of her took over and forced down her sobs and cries of pain in favor of quick, steady breaths. Moving was—

She couldn’t move her legs. She could feel her fingers, numb and useless, clenching ever so slightly. She could feel her arms, her torso and her head, but she couldn’t feel her legs. Fear turned into panic quickly and Joker’s grating voice did not help.

“Oh don't pass out just yet! Come on, show a little spine!”

 _My spine…_ tears started pricking at the corners of her eyes. He had shot her through her goddamn spine and now she couldn’t feel her legs. She couldn’t kick, she couldn’t fight back, not with the rest of her half-useless body feeling the agony sprawling out from the wound like black tendrils in water after an oil spill. Whatever Joker had planned for her next, there was nothing she could do to stop it. Within an instant, her mind dragged up all the horrible details she was least fond to remember right now: the many horrifying crime scenes with his mutilated victims, the stories of sheer terror his goons liked to tell about how he treated his opponents, his victims and even his own gang. Jason.

_Oh god…_

Was he going to kidnap her, too? Keep her locked up somewhere, torture her for months, brag about it to every thug that came his way, taunt Batman with it every chance he got? Would she end up on a chair, with a J branded into her face, getting a bullet to the chest on camera for the viewing pleasure of Bruce, Tim and Dick?

She ended up being right about one thing: there was a camera. She couldn’t see much through the haze of red pain and white tears, but she was aware of the flash that accompanied the clown’s insane laughter. One. Two. Three. _One for Batman, Robin and Nightwing, each?_

“Just wait till your father gets home,” Joker managed despite his mad giggling. “He's going to be furious about all this mess.”

_My father? What the hell is his deal with my father? I’m Batgirl. If anything, shouldn’t he be—_

_He doesn’t know._ Batgirl came to the realization the same moment Barbara did and the parts of her that could still move froze over for a second. Slowly, Joker’s footsteps receded. If he didn’t know that she was Batgirl, than there was no reason for him to torture her, no reason to break her any more than he already had. At least not this time. To Joker, this was probably just another turn in his game of cat and mouse with Commissioner James Gordon.

It wasn’t until she heard the door shut that she allowed herself a moment, a spark of hope. Her body was still one massive pit of pain. Breathing was still agony. But she was alive. And as long as she was alive, the fight was not over. She was Batgirl, for crying out loud! She couldn’t just lie on her broken back and wait to die.

“Call—“ The pain that shot through her chest at the single word nearly knocked her out. She could feel the darkness creep up on her. Up, down, right, left, floor, walls, ceiling – it was all the same. She felt like she was a balloon floating through a room lined with dull needles and every little point of contact hurt like a knife to the gut. Or a bullet to the spine. “Call Batman. Authorization… BG.”

BG. Barbara Gordon. Batgirl. They were one and the same. They had to be. She had to keep it that way. There was no Batgirl without Barbara and no Barbara without Batgirl. She couldn’t give up now. Her father needed her. Bruce needed her. Tim needed her. Dick needed her. Alfred and Lucius needed her. Most importantly, Batgirl need her to stay awake, goddamn it! The dormant tracking device clicked softly as it booted and opened up a comms link.

“BG.”

 _Batman!_ Never before had she been so happy to hear his gravelly voice through the faint static of a batcom. A hint of a question was swinging underneath the word and no wonder. She had been instructed to use the BG authorization only if there was the slightest doubt that her identity might be compromised one way or the other.

“BG. What --- happen---?”

Batman’s voice crawled into her ear in bits and pieces. Barbara squinted against a fresh wave of pain, threatening to drag her under. _Breathe, goddamn it! There’s no telling if you’ll wake up if you go to sleep now!_

“Joker.”

She wanted to say so much more, to explain, to describe, to drag up the details that were etched into her photographic memory and leech them from her brain like drops of poison, but every letter hurt, to her point where she felt blood welling up from where she had bitten her lip. There was no answer from the other end of the line, but she was faintly aware of the background noise of Gotham at night – car horns, live ads and news coverage, the sharp swish of a cape. She thought back to her own cape, hanging neatly cleaned and straightened in a closet in the Clock Tower, together with the rest of her suit and gadgets. Would she ever be able to hear it swish again? To feel its weight on her shoulders, the wind rushing past her during a dive?

 _Don’t go there, Barb. Just breathe. In and out. In and out._ She tried to keep it as even and steady as she could, but already the rest of her body was losing control. Her fingers were first, becoming numb to the feeling of the carpet, then her arms and shoulders. The lamp above her head morphed slowly into an indistinct blob of light. On the bright side, the pain was starting to fade, too. That was nice. She wanted to sleep. She wanted it so badly. Just a little. Just five minutes.

_Don’t do it, Barb. Don’t put Batgirl to sleep._

More light – harsh, unforgiving and blue – crawled up to her eyes from where she supposed her feet were, only to be consumed by a cold shadow. As the ebony silhouette appeared over her, a smile crept across Barbara’s lips.

_You know you are a true Bat when the sight of a black cowl right above your face does not spell terror._

To her, it was comfort, salvation and hope.


	6. Compensation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Two-Face decides to kidnap what he considers the weakest link in the orphaned batfamily – Barbara Gordon – he forgets one tiny little detail: Batgirl has three brothers.

There were many things about being Batgirl that Barbara missed – gliding from rooftop to rooftop, defeating and arresting thugs, saving innocent people, using all kinds of crazy gadgets, watching Riddler lose ever more of his cool as she breezed through his so called ‘challenges’—

“You know, if she’s really paraplegic that means we wouldn’t even have to worry about her kicking us. All we need to do is tie up her hands real good… I’m just saying… might as well have some fun for all the trouble we went through…”

“Yeah, and Two-Face will murder us, if he finds out.”

“Yeah, _if_!”

The openly misogynistic, IQ-in-the-cellar thug chatter was definitely _not_ on that list.

Barbara had to give credit where credit was due: as kidnappings went, this one had been expertly organized. They had managed to surprise her with a tranquilizer dart to the neck on her way back home from her daily exercise round. The fact that she had twenty-eight different routes and she rolled a set of yahtzee dice every morning to decide which one to take meant that Two-Face had gone through the trouble of having her shadowed for at least a month and having snipers placed along each route. The spot had been picked carefully, too – it was the area with the least light and the smallest number of potential witnesses around. Also, whoever had shot her had clearly been a good marksman. Necks were not the easiest part to hit, as Jason had once patiently explained to her. She frowned at the memory. Unfortunately, douchebag #1 took it as a personal gesture.

“What’s wrong, missy? You bored?”

The others laughed. She had counted twelve so far, but given that she was tied to a support pillar in what looked like an old, abandoned, spider-web-riddled bank vault, it was entirely possible that there was someone behind her that she hadn’t seen yet.

“We’d be happy to entertain you, for a while…” Douchebag #1 grinned at her, revealing a set of entirely repulsive, yellow teeth. Barbara couldn’t have cared less, keeping her eyes staring straight into his instead. She had trained under Batman. She could do this all night.

“ _You’d_ be happy to entertain her,” Douchebag #2 corrected. “ _I’m_ just here to collect my paycheck and get the hell out of this damn city.”

Now that peaked her interest. Gotham was not exactly known for being the most welcoming turf for outsiders. Unfortunately, he was wearing the same black-and-white getup as the rest of the group. His accent was definitely upper East coast, but that did not narrow it down by much. The weapons they were carrying seemed pretty run off the mill as well.

Not that it mattered though. Soon, they would all be down for the count anyway. Or worse. She could feel the faint hum of the micro-tracker integrated into her Flying Graysons necklace against her chest. It had been set to monitor her heart rate and ping the Batcomputer as soon as her vitals dropped low enough to indicate unconsciousness. The tracker had been one of the many, many security measures she and the boys had agreed on for her, since she was the only member of the family whose affiliation with Batman was no longer the slightest bit ambiguous. She knew Dick and Tim used their bat-taught acting skills on a regular basis to fool anyone who bothered to ask into believing that they were oh-so-shocked about the reveal that their adoptive father had been a masked vigilante, and Jason… well, the world had pretty much forgotten about Jason after the initial buzz about the unexplained disappearance of Wayne’s second son had died, and as far as Barbara knew, that was alright with him.

More stimulating chatter rushed past her as she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and started meditating. There were the usual threats of violence of diverse kinds of course, but she also caught snippets of useful intel. Looking back on it, she now knew that Batman’s stoic silence might have been his greatest weapon. Anything you say can and will be used against you. Not just in a court of law.

It was the quick whistling of the titular line of Bobby Fuller’s _I Fought The Law And The Law Won_ that eventually put a grin on her face. She closed her eyes just in time before the flash bang grenade rolled into the room and exploded into a strike of white light and screeching sound. Two seconds later, the air was filled with the sound of cracking bones, frightened mumbling and the ringing of a bo staff against skulls.

“Ah, how I missed the Robin symphony!”

“And to think this guy just shoots them…” Robin quipped back at her while pointing at Red Hood, who was roaming the room, turning over one unconscious thug after another.

Barbara decided to speed up the search a little. “Two-Face wasn’t in here.”

“I’m not looking for Harv,” Jason muttered in response and there was an edge to his voice that Barbara had never heard before. Not from him at least. By the time Tim had untied the knot that bound her to the pillar and swept her up to carry her out of the vault, Red Hood had found his target. His boot was planted on the groaning man’s chest, his gun pointed straight at his head. “I’m looking for Mr. Jack Hansen here.”

She watched the man – douchebag #2 as she had labeled him – freeze in terror. As usual, Tim knew what she was thinking even before she found the words to describe it. “When we first followed the tracker, there was nothing here. Looked just like an old abandoned bank. Turns out the entrance to the vault had been coated in detective mode camouflage materials.”

“Militia tech?” Barb couldn’t quite believe it. Jason had forwarded a list of all militia hideouts to GCPD just after returning from Arkham Island last Halloween and Barbara had made sure to let her father know that it was reliable intel. GCPD had raided the hideouts immediately, confiscating any and all weapons and technology found. “You would have thought they would all have ditched Gotham asap.”

“Oh, he tried, didn’t you, Hansen?” There was something unmistakably psychotic about Jason’s voice as he shoved his gun in the merc’s face. “You just escaped from prison two days ago, together with Sasahara and Miller. I have to give you that much – you were harder to find than the two of them, but out of all the ways to get enough money for a ticket out of here, you just _had_ _to_ pick kidnapping _her_ , using the _Knight’s_ technology, didn’t you?”

“Hood, please don’t.” She knew where this was going and she didn’t want to see it. More importantly she didn’t want him to go down that road. Trying to convince Jason not to gun down every thug he encountered was an on-going battle that they lost as often as they won it. Thankfully, fate seemed to smile on her tonight.

“You hear that, Hansen? From this day forward your every breath is a gift from her and me!”

The butt of his gun came down hard and Barbara winced at the cracking sound as weapon and skull collided. Then again, a skull fracture trumped a bullet through the face any day. She was ready to take the win.

The way upstairs was littered with unconscious thugs in white-and-black. Robin explained to her where exactly they were and how long she had been gone, while Red Hood cleared the way ahead. To her surprise, it was not Gotham’s cold, harsh September rain greeting her. It was the handsome, million-watts-smile face of Dick Grayson.

“Nightwing? What are you doing in Gotham?”

“Aw, I missed you, too, Babs.” Something was off. Barbara could feel it, just as much as she could see it in his eyes. “Do you honestly expect me to just sit around in Blüdhaven, on my day off no less, if one of our trackers starts acting up? Nuh-uh, we are not leaving anyone behind ever again.”

Jason snorted at that. “My heart melts.” She watched silently as he stepped right past Nightwing and out into the alley that led to the vault access stairs. Two-Face was hanging from a broken street light, strung up expertly by his left foot. Jason mustered him up and down before turning back to his older brother. “Since when do you know how to do inverted takedowns?”

“I don’t. I was in the middle of beating up the cavalry up here. Turned around and there he was, all knocked out.”

All the little alarm bells in her head went off at once. Judging from the faces of the others, she was not alone. There weren’t many people that had ever mastered the art of stringing thugs up from atop a gargoyle. Batman had been able to do it and so had Batgirl, but Dick had always gotten tangled up in his cape and lines, Jason had preferred a more close-up approach and Tim’s hand-eye-coordination went to hell when upside down.

“Azrael perhaps?”

Tim’s suggestion made sense. Whatever it was, she did not have the patience or the will to deal with it now. “Crime scene processed?”

“Yep.”

“Good.” For now, Barbara could not have cared less. Nobody had died. None of them had gotten hurt. Whoever this mystery man or woman was, they were evidently not meaning them any harm. It was a mystery that could wait another night, because tonight there were more important things. “Ice cream at six ‘o clock, and I am not taking no as an answer.”

Tonight, all her brothers were in one place. Tonight, they would all be safe and sound.


End file.
